


Asphalt and Desire, Gasoline and Dreams

by kestra_troi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Autofellatio, Dean Winchester Loves The Impala, Drabble, Inanimate Object Porn, Masturbation, Mechaphilia, No Plot/Plotless, Non-Human Impala (Supernatural), Object Penetration, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex, Shameless Smut, Short One Shot, Temperature Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-15 14:25:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13615248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kestra_troi/pseuds/kestra_troi
Summary: Dean leaves the bar with no one on his arm, so he spends some quality time with Baby.





	Asphalt and Desire, Gasoline and Dreams

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Auto-Erotic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/545980) by [italics_of_uncertainty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/italics_of_uncertainty/pseuds/italics_of_uncertainty). 



> Title comes from a Maggie Stiefvater quote. 
> 
> Italics are Dean's thoughts. 
> 
> Comments and Kudos welcome!

This rarely happened.

Even before Sam came back.

Dean staggering out of a bar, tipsy and horny and alone. _Struck out_. But it happened more and more lately, though Dean would never admit to that. Even to himself. Maybe his heart just wasn’t in it anymore…

Weaving through parked cars that nobody should own let alone drive and bikes waiting for eagerly fiery death, he eventually stumbles up to his Baby, smiling bright. _Home sweet home_.  

He pulls out the key on instinct, bending over and unlocking the doors. When he opens his door though he hears Sam’s snooty voice in his head: _Buzzed driving is drunk driving._ He snorts, his little brother a buzzkill, imaginary or not, but he closes his door regardless without getting in.

The job is risky enough. He won’t hurt Baby by being an idiot drunk.

He glides his hands along the doorframe over to the back. _I’ll sleep it off_ , he decides. The metal is cold beneath his palm, slick from a sudden drizzle. He shivers, the chill going straight to his core.

“You wet for me, Baby?” he slurs, smirking at the Impala, winking playfully at her. He opens the back door with his dry hand and slips in laughing at his little joke.

The backseat is cold too. He shudders hard, goosebumps erupting down his arms. His dick thickens. “Jesus, Baby,” he swears, as he closes the door behind him.

He scoots to the middle while clumsily squeezing his semi-erection. The cool dampness of his hand through his jeans makes his dick harder. He whips his head up, hastily scanning the lot.

No one jumps out of the shadows or loiters imperiously by the door, and he parked far enough down the side to be secluded. Ish. Nobody will be able to see. At least not well enough to spoil things anyway.

Before he can think twice, he pulls down his zipper and fishes his junk out of the flap in his boxers. His cool hand feels amazing on his warm, burgeoning dick. _See what you do to me, Baby?_ He shakes his dick and chuckles under his breath. _This is all your fault, Baby Girl, so whatta you gonna do about it?_

Lube and condoms sit in the glove compartment.  

“You got me all hot and bothered, Baby Girl,” he mumbles to his car, sliding his hands on the seat cushions beside him. His hand snags on the middleseat buckle and he tugs the belt out further.

He tries to wrap the fabric around his dick, it hangs too loosely, no matter how tightly he yanks. The metal buckle grazes his dick and he gasps, biting his bottom lip.

“Your hand is like ice, Baby,” he titters. He skims the freezing cold metal down his shaft and over the sides.

His dick throbs.

_This is so wrong!_ The metal, unyielding and stern, familiar in his hand, but weird and oddly exhilarating on his dick. He presses the buckle to his balls and hisses. “Jesus!”

He works the flat edge of the buckle up the underside of his bobbing dick. Pre-come smears the metal. “I’m sorry, Baby,” he mutters abashedly.

Leaning over, he licks his pre-come off the buckle. The taste of metal in his mouth mixed with him makes Dean flush and pant. He swipes his tongue absently across his lips.

Groaning, he sucks in his stomach and slouches deeper into the seat. Pushing past the burn, he wraps his lips around the tip of his own dick. He breathes shallowly through his nose, his heart racing, his face on fire, as he suckles the flared head.

He can’t take any more and he can’t stay long.

Quickly, he collects more of his pre-come, holding the sweet, thin fluid in his mouth. He pushes the cold buckle against his hot, hollowed cheek like a caress. An encouragement.

This was the exact place he learned he could put his own dick in his own mouth all those years ago. _With a little help from Baby_.

With a mouthful of pre, Dean sat up again, hurriedly shoving the metal buckle into his mouth. He dinged his teeth, but the momentary hurt added to the fun.

Swishing the pre-come around, he wets the metal before removing it. Gazing at the glistening metal in the dim light Dean lovingly swipes his tongue across the grooves and dips, making a mess and a show of cleaning Baby off.

“I love you, Baby. You know I do,” he proclaims, kissing the buckle feverishly on every side; the metal slippery and warm against his lips and still unforgiving. “You want it too, don’tcha, Baby?”

Carefully, unwrapping the belt from his junk, he rubs the buckle against his slightly wilted hard-on. The ache lances through him, the metal harsh and roundly sharp, but his dick hardens anyways. He scours the ridged button on his slit, the miniscule bumps teasing and nowhere near enough.

“Oh, come on, Baby. Be good to your old pal Dean,” he pleads, stroking his dick wistfully. _No hands tonight_ , he decides. He lets go and drops the buckle.

The belt retracts.

The lube and condoms beckon to him from the glove compartment. _No glove, no love_ , he reminds himself. He said that to Sam years ago. Along with: _You get anything on my Baby and I’ll kill you, Sammy._ And: _If I find anything wet spots on her upholstery I’ll whoop your ass._

But… _My car, my rules…_

Flipping around, Dean kneels on the floorboard, fingers probing for that certain spot he likes between the two seats. He doesn’t need lube. _Baby’s enough._ He doesn’t need condoms. _I’ll clean her up like I always do._

Sparing a glance out each window and windshield, Dean raises up and crouches over Baby’s backseat. Slowly, he sinks his dick between her cushioned, softly chilly embrace.

She’s smooth down here, rubbery. Too loose and too even to get him off. Dean rests his heavy head against her seatback and rolls his hips. He finds the spot where she tightens, holds herself in place just for him. A place perfectly molded for him.

In later years when he rebuilds her, he doesn’t tinker with her backseat, doesn’t improve or change her at all back there. He leaves her like she is and was, practically made for him.

He whispers her name over and over as he rocks into her. He digs his nose into the folds of her leather seats, nuzzling her as he thrusts. She sways with him, but even she can’t be everything.

Baby is his home and his ride. She takes care of him, never leaves his side. She doesn’t like to be sullied, but she’ll give him this. She’ll wait for him to finish, help him along because she understands. Understands that he needs her. Needs her to be his in a way that she was never his dad’s.

“You may not be a woman, Baby, but you’re better than my hand,” he promises. He’d already be done if he used his hand. He fucks faster. “Come on, Baby. Quit teasin’ me.”

He drags his sensitive head between that cramped space. The air on the other side is cooler than the rest of her now. Back and forth. He saws at that dry, barely flexible spot. She’s warming up to him. He’s heating her up.

“That’s it, Baby. That’s it,” he huffs. “Take it. Take my cock, Baby.”

His dick thickens, almost too big to fit. The pain helps him off. He moans. The splatter-thump of his come hitting the floorboards rings loudly in his ears as he milks his dick.

“Thank you, Baby. Thank you,” he gushes. If he used his hand, he could get more out, but not tonight. He sinks down, drowsily, catching his breath.

His dick softens.

He pulls out gingerly.

He relaxes on his knees and pets her seats.

When he’s back, he tucks his junk back into his boxers. His hand comes back sticky. He grabs the roll of paper towels behind the passenger seat and cleans up. He reaches down under the backseat to clear away his mess. He feels around to make sure nothing stays wet.

The windows are fogged up at the bottom. He rolls one down and tosses the used paper towels outside. He zips up and closes the window and grabs the blanket from under his seat. The empty, unsatisfied feeling sits in his gut. He’ll jerk off properly tomorrow.

“You’re beautiful, Baby,” he murmurs. “But you’re no woman.”

He sleeps in her that night. 


End file.
